


Sometimes

by Thursgay



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursgay/pseuds/Thursgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes I like to drabble about my favourite pairing. Casual writing, no particular plot, purely experimental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes

Erwin. 

Command is twined about his muscle, heavy and lumbered and thick as corded muscle coils to spring. Looking at him, you would think that he carries far too much about him to be graceful. Far too much strength laid thick on something skeletal in him, far too much charm slathered upon something old and rich and aching. But his voice is honey, golden and royal as it combs its way to your ear, as slick as a soothing touch through parted locks, as gripping as nails scraping softly along a tilted scalp. 

Levi knows to listen when he speaks (he could not do otherwise) but it is his gaze that disobeys him – sharp silver hooking on the way his larger fingers curl about a feather pen and spiral phrases bound in jewels upon a plain, unassuming parchment. He could spin gold from straw, could bring high the lowest --- and is he not proof enough of that?

There is a flicker then; a cutting gaze shades blue on him.  
His own does not stutter.  
He is not ashamed.

“Yes?”

Deep, rich, dark like oak wood. He sounds the way the forests look – but the call of his depths are so much more tempting, edged in some unspoken danger. Stamped in delegation.

“Nothing.”

Levi is not the prying sort.  
& They get back to work.

\--

There is nothing in their lives that lays untouched by their profession. Their relationship echoes that. A friendship steeled stronger than the best formed armour, a trust tightly wound in red between their fists. They speak in grave, gravel tones and rest the possibility of softness beneath cemented tongues. Priorities chain them. They do not grudge this. 

But chains can be loosened and so can tongues.

& Levi finds this just as he finds him, lightened by the touch of wine. 

Liquor lights him, Levi can see this, and he watches how it warms him like sun glow, taints him with whiskey shine. He can see the way the heat rises in him, youthful and red and daring, clamouring to the skyline through the rouge sharpness of his cheeks. They rest on his ears, mountain peaks that sweep the shades dust down along his collar bone. His shirt is unbuttoned, too, laid aside by the fumble of shot fingertips and a restless heat beneath his chest. Levi glances. A tsk sharpens itself between his teeth.

“You started without me.”

“There’s plenty left.”

A drunken state is difficult to notice in him to those who do not know him well (not like he does). So his steps are still as steady, command still as prominent in the lines of his calves, and the sway of his hips are calculated in a sweeping sort of carelessness. He chooses to rest along the wall. His spine obeys the shift, shadow laying itself gently on the shorter of the two, a sweetened shade made to warm the kindle of a private conversation. Levi is not often one to indulge.

“I hadn’t thought you cared for drink, Levi.”

A glance further downward and he spots a glass held languidly between the space of two fingers. Muscles bid it to twirl, twisting the liquor inside to dance.

“I don’t.”

He does not get drunk.

“Try some.”

& He does not tell Erwin that.

A brow peaks at him, questioning, surety curling a one sided smile from the smirk of his lips as they peel back the glimmer of teeth. Erwin leans closer – but there is only ease in his actions, no threat – and raises the glass to press against the other’s lips. Barely there. A ghost of something else.

Levi doesn’t speak – but their eyes are locked and his gaze is as heavy as a sword, as laden with deadly promise and a wiry skittishness. 

But when Erwin tips the glass, his lips part to drink. 

\--

Reality for them is bloodletting. Blood and blood and blood. Rivets of red ribbon pulled from mortal bodies, screams evaporating into steam and flesh disintegrating into the torn tendons of space. This is their reality, not the warmth of friendship or the familiarity of a drink laden chuckle, not the surety that one could speak freely, words spilt with the same readiness as trickled wine. Reality for them can be seen etched in death tolls, strategic figures, chess roles bitten into their skin. & So they rarely think of anything else. 

But sometimes the acts of passing moments linger on them; so it is that Levi finds himself watching Erwin at his desk, trailing the swoop of his hand as it caves into a signature, following the steadfast centrality of his gaze and peering with a feline sort of detached curiosity at the absurdity of his role. & He thinks, passingly, reality naught but a smudge along the hum and press of his tongue, little more than the brief lash of a biting blink –

That those hands of his would be better biting at his hips, heavy on his neck, fumbling at his lips.

& For a moment he is nothing but angry.  
Nothing but wistful.  
Nothing but pissed with himself.

"Nothing."


End file.
